


Romantic

by MegatronTheFuta



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Fanon, Gen, M/M, TFP - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 03:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17614889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegatronTheFuta/pseuds/MegatronTheFuta
Summary: Since the beginning of time seekers have been known for their uncontrollable emotions. This stereotype has plagued their perception for millennia, and nobody knows this better than Starscream.





	Romantic

Humans were, without a doubt, the lowest form of life.

Starscream’s thrusters hummed as he lay upon the rocky outlook, sneering with his nose plunged in the direction of a vastly expansive earthen sea. A fleet of idle jets accompanied him in peering behind the wire fence. Gracefully curving towards the sky, a thick spire of rock was hollowed to make way for a corkscrewed road, trailing up into the small military docker at its summit. It had once been a place to land jets for test flights. Though seeing a lot of use in its day, evident by the sheer mass of disabled old planes crouched within its bounds, the pad was now abandoned, making it a favorite place of Starscream’s to come to think—and, as he unfortunately now knew, a hot gathering spot for the comfortable, casual rebels of human society.

The couple’s beat up old truck was parked at an angle from the ridge. Their tiny, warm bodies shivered excitably against each other. If they shimmied just a little further, they would be plunged from the cliff face, Starscream thought, relishing in the irony of the concept. The vehicle's bumper was barely four feet away from the sheer drop. Unperturbed, though, and perhaps even inspired by the danger, the fleshlings continued to convulse like worms writhing on pavement and twined their fleece arms together, blending into a tapestry of hot flesh.

It was not uncommon for Starscream to be rudely interrupted by unwelcome human visitors. The mesa was scenic and secluded for a good few miles, making it attractive to those willing to go off-road and venture into the featureless desert. These two were no different; the sheer danger and intrigue of an uncovered “top secret” facility, combined with the promise of a decent view, made the small cliff an irresistible piece of candy. Come twilight, the stars were clearer up here than they would ever be.

Stupid, naive animals, Starscream thought. Like flies, men drew towards glittery things impulsively and polluted the air with their buzzing. The world was their carrion, and they ravaged its supple hips, impervious to wounding unless it befell their own chests. The stench of their fornication seeped into the flesh and rotted it. 

Stuttering meekly, the couple’s near disassembled truck shone its headlights into the gaze of the night sky, forming an inky black silhouette around their soft, round figures. Their faces were pictured in ghastly light. The girl was plump and lively, giggling with the consistency and shrillness of a metronome as her silent lover cemented her to the engine’s hood. Her hair was the color of mildew and she had a ridiculous look of joyous abandon in her face (“The word ‘optimist,’” Starscream had always insisted, “is just a pleasant-sounding way to call someone stupid”). She would undoubtedly bear her offspring young and by an absentee father. Her lover, however, looked less like a decoration: his face was gaunt and beaklike, and his skeleton lacked dimension, defined by a bulk of muscle around his limbs, but hardly much in the realm of aesthetics. His wiry body could support her, and Starscream supposed that was all that mattered. A backwards cap covered his greasy hair, and underneath its rim, his eyes glowed predatorily, sizing her up with primal passion. She was carrion. She was carrion, and she'd be ravished by males with gaunt, beaklike faces for as long as she lived, for as long as her plumpness remained and her face was blissfully stupid. 

Starscream’s irritation escalated as the boy lifted his meat onto the hood, dropping her with a triumphant thunk, opening her body to him. The way their human bodies wiggled and pulsed was revolting. Imagining the fatty flesh upon him as the girl’s clothes were torn off, Starscream nearly transformed just so he could empty his tanks, to rid the nausea of fluid sloshing inside him. Her shirt came off first, then her all too tight jeans. Of course, the boy would never expose himself beyond the waist—that was to show weakness, and to show weakness, Starscream thought bitterly, was unthinkable. He was in charge of her, and she was either too stupid to know or too deceived in her bliss to care. She invited him with unwavering giggles. 

His lips smashed all along her open neck. Starscream imagined saliva dribbling down his chin as he struggled not to sink his teeth into her baby-soft skin. His hands meandered along the valleys of her hips and chest, up, down, then up again, aggressively digging his fingers in and tenderizing her. She was wild with glee.

Humans were self centered brats. They only thought about themselves and their activities. They performed soulful, binding acts with all the intrigue of routine, constantly drumming, a thunderous beat spilling disastrous strikes of lighting at every measure. To him, she was a crop to be tended, only baited enough to keep her engaged, tricked into believing herself satisfied. She ran on the same metronome. He farmed, she provided, a constant, invariable cycle. And at its core, for what? For fulfillment of the even steadier drum of instinct, chasing pleasure, impulses of gratification from the faulty, fleshling mind. They were never happy. They tricked themselves into being happy, sharing laughter without knowing what it meant, eternally chasing shots of euphoria. They stood on hierarchies of greed. The strongest were the ones who could get what they wanted by controlling the wants of others. 

Humans were, without a doubt, the lowest form of life.

The boy had started to yank at her underclothes, causing her to shriek, yelling playfully for him to stop. She knew he wouldn't. She didn't want him to. The girl was propelled by a desire deeper than autonomy or self control. It didn't matter if he disrespected her commands, it didn't matter if he was too small to envelop her in his arms, too weak to sweep her off her feet or do anything other than toss her around, too apathetic to do things for her benefit; as long as he paid attention and made her feel desirable, she was the happiest girl in the world. It didn't matter if he was smacking her around. It didn't matter if he was insulting her to the point of tears—he was here, and that was all that would ever matter to her.

Starscream pitied her and despised her. He pitied her like he pitied any human, like one pitied an insect mutilated to the edge of death. Yet he also hated her, because, if only for a moment, he was jealous that she could be so frivolous. She couldn't have been happier than at that instant and that made him feel more alone than anything.

The seeker’s wings quivered angrily. The sight of them fidgeting, twitching and bumping, squealing and creaking, folding in and out of themselves made him feel simultaneously sad, angry, and ill. Every second that passed he imagined the sputtering of their truck growing louder and grittier. Obscured from the obnoxious headlight’s glow, Starscream was sure that he had never felt rage before. 

It was beyond satisfying to feel the plump girl’s flesh split and pop between his clenched digits.


End file.
